


Takes One To Know One

by randomnickname



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Western, Foe Yay, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22774957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomnickname/pseuds/randomnickname
Summary: "I know by which end to hold a pistol. You need men for the bounty hunt. I'll be outside when you recognize you won't find a better shot in a 40-miles radius."He turns his back on Giriko and the gun pointed at him, and marches out of the saloon without a backward glance.Giriko is so surprised he doesn't even shoot."In the frozen mountains of Wyoming, bounty hunters Justin and Giriko team up for a man-hunt.Soul Eater western AU.
Relationships: Giriko/Justin Law
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for the bad cowboy slang and sloppy research. This started off as an exercise in brevity and snappy writing, and devolved into this odd cowboy story.  
> You should picture Giriko wearing chaps, i guess!

# 1

Giriko takes one look at the kid, laughs heartily and turns back to his whiskey.

"No," he calls over his shoulder.

"Why not?"

The tall young man stands rooted in place in the middle of the saloon, and watches Giriko in the mirror. Got an odd attire on him - black coat, black hat, black scarf, may as well stick crow feathers up his ass. Doesn't match the young face and the halo of golden hair. He can't be much older than twenty, and looks like he hasn't done a single day of hard work in his life. Probably can do fancy math and shit.

"I'm lookin' for a tough lad to go on a man-hunt with, not some prissy little princess who's late for the ball," Giriko indulges in grunting. "Go home play doll or whatever it is ya do."

He downs his glass, and gestures at the bartender for more.

Another day gone by, and still he's found nobody to go track the Dutchman's gang with. Seems there's no one in this town of pantywaists with an ounce of courage to their names. It almost makes him regret he shot Mosquito, and he couldn't even stand that Mexican bastard.

He hates this shithole of a town, and after a few day of Giriko's habitual demeanor the feelings are reciprocated. The townsfolk give him a wide berth - at least they are quick learners.

"You may want to reconsider," the young man says levelly. He still hasn't moved.

"Oh yeah?" Giriko sneers. "Come see me when you've learned by which end to hold a pistol, bud. Then maybe I'll think about it."

The bartender, a short, balding man who eyes Giriko's muscular frame with alarm, unscrews the bottle cap and makes to pour another round. "Here yer are, Gearcow," he says.

"It's Giriko, you cock-suckin' son of a bitch!" Giriko explodes, and snatches the bottle from the man's hand. "S'it so fuckin' hard to pronounce?!" It's like the entire town does it on purpose to piss him off.

He rattles off some of his most lurid insults, describing in detail what he thinks of the townfolks, their grandmothers and the unspeakable things they did to goats, but in Czech because he's not stupid enough to antagonize everyone around when he has no back-up. At least, not until he's had another round, he thinks and takes a long swig from the bottle.

From the corner of his eye he sees something move in the mirror, rattle-snake-quick - then the bottle bursts in his hand with a shrill clatter.

He blinks, whiskey dripping from his lashes, and stares at the empty space where there was solid glass. The bartender shouts, the saloon girl screams, and Giriko looks up to see the young man sheathe a deadly-looking revolver in one fluid motion.

His eyes in the mirror do not leave Giriko's for a second, and they are ice cold.

"You were saying?" he says.

His voice is perfectly calm, as though they were having a friendly chat and he didn't just shoot a bullet an inch away from Giriko's face. It is infuriating, and before Giriko can realize how close he came to death his blood starts boiling in his veins. He jumps up, sending the bar stool crashing to the ground, and hurls the bottleneck at the young man's face, who sidesteps it easily.

"What's yer fuckin' problem?" Giriko yells, and draws his six-shooter. "Ya need some fuckin' attention?" He takes a threatening step forward, swaying as the whisky roils in his empty stomach - two patrons quickly take cover.

"Huh?" he insists when the young man doesn't react.

The kid shrugs, looking bored. "I know by which end to hold a pistol. You need men for the bounty hunt. I'll be outside when you recognize you won't find a better shot in a 40-miles radius." He turns his back on Giriko and the gun pointed at him, and marches out of the saloon without a backward glance.

Giriko is so surprised he doesn't even shoot.

"You're an ass!" he calls after a few seconds, short of better insults. There's no answer.

# 2

"That's a donkey."

"It's a mule," the young man corrects, and gives the creature a friendly pat. "And a mighty fine one at that."

Giriko frowns. The donkey heehaws.

"It's gonna slow you down," he states.

"Gloria's fast. She won't be a bother."

Giriko grunts, and eyes the donkey's saddlebags.

Now that's more interesting. He can see the muzzle of a damn fine carbine, an old-fashioned crossbow and the handles of what he can only guess are throwing knives. Add to that the two revolvers dangling from the guy's hips, and that's an impressive arsenal for a lone traveler. It spurs Giriko's curiosity - and his greed.

The blond rests his hand on the saddlebags.

"Do you know where the Dutchman's gang is hiding out?" he asks. His face shows no emotion but the gesture is protective, and Giriko begrudgingly stops ogling the carbine.

"Up in the Big Horns. There's an old mine they use as a winter lair. We can hand them over in Fort Reno, after."

He doesn't mention he spent quite some time at that mine last year, and helped out in more than one raid of the Dutchman's rout. If that Dutch idiot hadn't decided to move up to bigger targets, he'd be freezing his ass off in the mountains with the rest of them. But he left in time and as a result it's not his mug that adorns wanted posters.

He has played his cards well, once again. One does not survive for almost ten years in this shitty country without getting a sniff for situations that go south.

With one notable exception, but then he doesn't like to dwell upon that memory.

"That's a few day's ride," the kid states, blue eyes inquisitive. "So we partner up?"

Giriko crosses his arms. "Yer in a hurry or what? First I need proof you're not total shit with those fancy weapons o' yours. Show me you ain't all gurgle and no guts."

The blond's moue is skeptical, but within half a second there's a pistol in each of his hands. "And how do you suggest I prove that?"

Giriko glances around the deserted street, in search of a difficult target. "Shoot the weathercock."

It's on top of the church, and it's currently rotating like crazy under the assaults of the freezing wind. An almost impossible shot.

The kid aims, fires once, fires twice. The weathercock is adorned with two new holes, and Giriko represses a whistle. He has to admit, he's impressed.

He blows on his fingers to warm them, and looks the young man up and down, thinking. The blond cockily raises an eyebrow.

"So?" he smirks, and treats his pistols to a showy spin before sheathing them.

He looks terribly full of himself, and suddenly Giriko can't stand the idea of granting him even the tiniest speck of satisfaction. He wants to tell the kid to piss off, that if he wanted a wimp with no bite at his side, a toothless granny'd be more useful company.

But truth is, he has seven dollars left in his pockets, no friendly faces to turn to, and the weather's already cold for the season. He needs the money, and he can't wait any longer for a convenient partner to show up.

"200$ for each men," he bites out. "600$ for the Dutchman himself. Clean half-half split. Ya ever attempt to double-time me, you'll be eatin' daisies by the roots faster than you can say 'howdy'. You pack yer own provisions, we share hunted game, we share profits of the loot. No pussyfootin'. No bedtime stories. _No_ singin'. Got it?"

The blond's eyes narrow in consideration. "How many men in the gang?"

"Between six and eight, I reckon."

It's a lot to take on, but Giriko's confident in his abilities. He's bigger, faster, meaner than most, and it has served him well so far. He's alive, isn't he? He's curious to see if that lad is equally bulletproof. Hopefully he can be of some use before getting himself shot.

After a second, the blond nods and outstretches a thin hand. "It's a deal."

They shake on it. The young man's hand is dainty like a girl's, his fingers callused. A confusing mix, but the grip is reassuringly firm.

The man takes a step back, smiles.

"I'm Justin Law, by the way," he says agreeably.

"And I don't give a shit." Giriko looks around, locates the grocery store down the street. "Meet me here in half an hour, need to buy some gear. We'll hit the road then."

The Law kid looks perplexed. "Don't you want to sober up?"

Giriko almost snorts. He reeks of whisky and can't walk straight, but since when does that slow down a guy like him? That city-slicker has a lot of things left to learn. Giriko shoots him a lewd grin.

"Friend, if I couldn't ride full as a tick, I wouldn't be standin' here looking dashin', so dont'cha worry yer pretty lil' head. So long."

He tilts his hat in an ironic salute, and saunters his way to the grocery store.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember doing some research on Native American history in the Wyoming area but it's been quite a while so apologies for mistakes. Also, use of period-specific slurs.

#3

"Left."

"Right.

"Left!"

"Right."

Giriko glowers. " _Left_ ," he growls. "Told ya, been to that mine before. Why the hell you arguin'?"

It's the first conversation they're having since they hit the road. Giriko has been leading so far, relaxed if it wasn’t for Law's gaze burning holes into his neck.

Law points at the map he's holding. "We'll be riding straight through Crow territory. Isn't the detour worth avoiding getting slaughtered by savages?"

Leaning back in his saddle, Giriko sighs, readjusts his scarf. It's cold as a witch's tit - underneath the cheap gloves his hands are freezing. "Haven't been in Wyoming for long, have ya?"

"For about two months," Law says. "Why?"

"Cause yer head is full of shit, that's why. The Crows, they get along with settlers just fine, do some trade, s'long as they don't think you're cheatin' 'em. No, it's the Cheyenne and Sioux they're warring with."

He sniffs, looking at the dark forest meandering ahead of them. "With the settlers gaining new land in the East, there's lotsa Indian tribes were forced to move, searchin' for new territories and whatsnot. Which means lotsa conflict between 'em Indians. T's not the Crows ya gotta fear," he finishes with a glance towards Law. "They can be reasoned with much better than that idiot Dutch. What is it?"

Law is looking at him funny. "... Didn't think I'd get to hear sensible words out of your mouth, that's all.”

Giriko grunts. "You're hella quick to judge a man, bud," he says, eyes narrowing. "How come ya think so poorly of me?"

Law gives him a once-over that lingers too long, and Giriko stiffens under the scrutiny.

"I have good instincts," Law eventually says.

" _Pshaw_!" Giriko snarls, spits sideways. "And I've saddle sores tougher than you. So ya better shut yer fly trap and do as I say, and I say we go _left_."

With that, he steers his brown mare towards the slope, and begins the climb. He doesn't turn to check if Law is following, but he hears the mule's hooves clapper against the stones in his wake.

Then Law brings his mule up to Giriko's height to have them riding side by side, so close their knees almost bump.

"Fine," Law says. "The Dutchman is more of a menace than the Indians, I'll take your word on that. So what is he like?"

Giriko scowls, sensing a trap. "Why, ya think I know the Dutchman?"

"I'm not exactly shy of a brain, Giriko."

Law's use of his name feels more familiar than is called for, and Giriko shoots him a suspicious look. He gets a blank smile in return.

He hesitates for a moment, then decides that information isn't confidential enough to hold back. "Yup, I mighta' run into him a few times," he eludes. Technically true.

"Uh, what can I tell you 'bout him... Well, he's ugly as a burnt boot, that's a thing. Talks an awful lot. Fairly clever fella, but whoppin' mad, always thinks everyone's out ta get him."

"Ah, a paranoiac."

"Para-what?"

"Nevermind."

"Hm. Anyway, with that wobblin' jaw of his he managed to gather a bunch a' morons around 'im, sods who believe he's gonna make 'em rich."

He sneers at the memories. He would never have settled for riding with that kind of crew had there been any better choices.

But the only crew he's ever wanted to be part of is buried beneath three foot of clay, and has been for quite a while now. So.

He resumes his description.

"One dumber as the other, means they ain't easy to predict. Worked out quite well for 'em so far, I reckon."

Law nods. The hollow they've been following narrows, and instead of retreating to the rear he leads his mount closer to Giriko's, their thighs pressing against each other. Giriko grunts in displeasure, but Law acts unbothered.

"We'll have to think of a strategy of attack," he says.

"I say, we go in and shoot 'em dead," Giriko replies, distracted by the warm line of contact against his leg. "Now get off me."

That makes Law laugh, a surprisingly joyful sound considering his undertaker clothes.

"That'll be the back-up plan," he says, riding ahead.

Giriko is left to ogle at his lean back, at the elegant way he sits in his saddle, supple like a cat-snake. His thigh tingles with borrowed heat.

# 4

"This is freakin' _awful_."

"It's not that bad," Law protests, and gulps down a spoonful of the greyish sludge. He doesn't manage to hide his grimace, though. Really, he’s full of shit.

Giriko spits to get rid of the burnt taste, groans as it clings to his palate. "Dammit, you're useless as a bull with tits. Could have said that you cain't cook."

Pushing himself upwards with a grunt, he throws his spoon at Law's head, who ducks and glares. Giriko goes to empty the pot at a safe distance of their makeshift camp, then hands it over to Law. "Go clean this up and I'll make us some grits after. No point in wastin' any more good corn."

Law's eyes narrow at the implied order, but after a second of consideration he grants Giriko a reluctant nod. His lean frame soon disappears between the trees as he makes his way down to the stream.

Giriko lazily stretches. A few joints pop.

They've made good progress today, riding til sunset, and he's relieved to get some minutes of solitude. It's been a long while of him riding solo; he isn't familiar with long stretches of company anymore.

There were times where he thought the loneliness would choke him, where he would have killed to retrieve some of the sense of belonging and easy camaraderie he had once taken for granted. Now the presence of others becomes grating after mere minutes, so much he can barely remember it ever being different.

He doesn't like to think about it much.

He strolls towards his horse to retrieve the bag of corn, when he notices the carbine muzzle looming out of Law's saddlebags.

It had piqued his interest before, and now is the perfect occasion to get a closer look. Maybe he can estimate its worth. This far north quality weapons are as scarce as hen with teeth; there's a lot of money to be made with a good gun. And regrettable things can happen during bounty hunts - stray bullets, rattlesnakes, sudden cases of backstabbing ... Would be a shame if such a good carbine got wasted just cause its owner ended belly-up, right?

Right. And on closer inspection, it really is a beauty. Quality steel, lightweight, the muzzle balanced and regular - excellent craftsmanship. Giriko swings the carbine around, aiming at a squirrel. He can't pull the trigger, not with Law within earshot; but he's badly tempted.

As badly tempted as he is to howl in pain when the mule steps on his foot.

"F-fffffffuck," he hisses, tossing the gun aside to shove off the mule. He throws all his body weight into it, but the angle's all wrong, and the mule - and its damned hoof on Giriko's boot - doesn't budge an inch. The pressure even seems to increase, half a ton of donkey pinpointed on Giriko's foot.

It's _excruciating_.

And then the wretched animal starts braying.

It's a horrible noise, like a locomotive braking on rusty rails, and it's deafening at close range.

"You loco nag -" Giriko sputters, eyes bulging with pain, and rams his shoulder into the mule's flank, one hand clawing at its short mane, the other shielding his ear. "I'mma make crowbait outta you, just you wait, you fuckin' ..."

There's a sharp whistle, and the braying stops at once.

A beat of silence.

Giriko turns to see Law standing near the campfire, pot in one hand, so still and expressionless he could be carved out of stone if it wasn't for the winter wind ruffling his hair. He's looking at the carbine near Giriko's feet.

Well, shit.

The embarrassment Giriko feels at being caught red-handed is trumped by the sharp stabs of pain in his foot. He grimaces a smile.

"Thanks, bud, noise was drivin' me loco. Now get this fuckin' rot of a donkey off me, that'd be mighty nice of ya..."

"Hm." Law steps closer, picks up his carbine. "Didn't thought petty thieving was your style."

Giriko swallows. He's all but pinned in place by the donkey, and has no gun in reach. If Law fancies the immediate kind of vengeance ...

"Wasn't stealin' none," he grits out, refraining a pained noise. "Just lookin'."

Law shoots him an inquisitive gaze, and Giriko tenses further. If that git thinks he'll get a better apology outta him ...

"Seems my poor opinion of you was warranted, wasn't it?" Law says, mildly.

Giriko eyes the carbine. "Maybe," he concedes.

An icy smile plays on Law's thin lips, and for two seconds Giriko is convinced Law is pissed enough to murder him in cold blood. There's a rushing sound in his ears like a waterfall.

But then Law merely clicks with his tongue. "Off, Gloria," he calls, and the pressure on Giriko's boot ceases with a last snort from the donkey.

Giriko stumbles to a sit with a low moan of pain, clutching his foot. It hurts like a bitch, but doesn't feel broken. He closes his eyes in relief for a second.

When he opens them again, it's to stare into the dark gullet of the carbine.

"Don't insult my mule again," comes the order.

Giriko holds very still, and nods, a single jerk. His shaky exhale fogs up the metal.

The gun retreats, replaced by an outstretched hand.

Giriko knows a peace offering when he sees one. He begrudgingly takes the hand, and Law helps him to his feet. They exchange a long, sour glance.

Then Law breaks into a blinding grin, and shoves the pot into Giriko's hands. "So, grits, you were saying?"


	3. Chapter 3

# 5

“I ain’t waitin’ much longer.”

“Tough luck.”

“Cain’t you get it to move already?”

Law shoots him an angry look. “And what do you think I’m trying to achieve here?!”

“Psha.”

Giriko leans back in his saddle, hand tight on the reins so his mare doesn’t spook. Wouldn’t be ideal, that with the steep slope bracketing the path to the left. What started a few hours earlier as a normal dirt track turned into a gravel mountain trail, one that’d be a real hassle to climb even without today’s wind and rain. Giriko’s mood, that hasn’t been great to start with after one night spent sleeping with one eye open, daring the Law kid to start shit, is plummeting further and further. He ducks his head to hide his runny nose in his scarf, watching as Law whispers sweet nothings into the donkey’s ear. Damn beast decided it wouldn’t take one further step.

“Get on with it!” Giriko barks. “It’s colder than a welldigger’s arse, I’m fuckin’ freezin’!”

He cain’t take the lead, the path’s too narrow for his horse to squeeze past through. And they damn well cain’t turn about, because if they spent three hours fighting the mountain and the weather for nothing Giriko is gonna jump off the fucking cliff.

"Mules excel at recognizing traitorous terrain," Law calls over the rain. “I’m afraid the road isn’t safe, or else Gloria wouldn’t be acting up. We might have to go back.”

Fucking greenhorn, being too soft on his damn donkey. The only thing that beast excels at is crushing innocent feet. Swearing, Giriko gets down from his mare, careful not to slip on the gravel, takes two steps forward, and slaps the mule’s arse as hard as he can.

The donkey, surprised, startles forward, and before it has had time to think it is plodding on, leaving deep grooves in the gravel.

Giriko grins. “There we go!” he yowls, triumphant.

He turns towards his mare to get back in the saddle, but the horse, eager to follow her companion, is already ambling forward. Giriko backs off, hands held up to slow the horse down - then there’s a sound like teeth crunching on sand as the path beneath his mare’s hooves crumbles.

The horse leaps forward and into safety; 800 pounds of horse tackle Giriko with full force.

He flies.

The impact with the ground chases all breath out of his lungs before the traction sends him rolling down the slope. Grey skies and dark earth rush in front of his eyes, a dizzying maelstrom - Giriko kicks his feet, claws at the wet earth like a drowning man. His fingers find something solid - a root - he grabs it with all his might - it holds and finally breaks his slide. He presses his face to the hard mud, breath coming fast, heart thudding. Icy raindrops splatter on his hair, run under his collar and down his bruised back. He blinks away dirt clumps.

“Are you comfortable down there?”

Law’s voice echoes through the rain as if from far away. Gripping the root, Giriko cautiously raises his head to check how far he fell. Must be fifty feet back to the path and Law’s dark shape. And twenty feet to a yawning precipice, he realizes in horror when he looks over his shoulder and down the slope.

“Shit,” Giriko coughs, fright constricting his throat. “A rope!” he hoarsely shouts. “T-toss me a rope!”

He doesn’t dare move a single muscle, afraid the ground beneath him might give way. Did Law hear? Does Law care? Maybe he’ll decide a rescue ain’t worth the trouble and he’d rather keep Giriko’s things. Though it ain’t much. Even the mare ain’t worth more than a measly few dollars. Still, Law might want revenge for the carbine thing --

But when he next looks up there’s a rope heading his way - a shudder of relief washes through him. He grabs it with trembling hands and hauls himself up on elbows and knees, foot by terrifying foot, while Law hoists the rope from above. It takes several grueling minutes before Giriko can crawl onto the path, almost atop Law’s feet.

Law’s looking at him, rope in hand. The other end of it is tied around a rocky outcrop. “You alright?”

Giriko sits down with his back against the mountain face, shaky. He’s caked in mud from head to toe. Everything is cold and hurts. Numbly he wipes at his face, runs a hand through his dripping hair, realizes something’s missing.

“Lost my fuckin’ hat.”

Law leans forward, squints through the rain. “I can see it.”

Giriko can too when he eventually stands up on wobbly knees; it’s stuck further down the slope from where he fell, just at the edge of the precipice.

“Ain’t nothing to be done about it. Not risking my hide for a hat.”

Law shoots him a long, inscrutable glance, then smiles all lopsided. He presses the coil of rope in Giriko’s hands, wrapping the end around his own wrist. “Hold on to this, and keep it taut.”

“What?”

But Law is already jumping down the slope, sliding down without loosing his footing on the wet gravel. Giriko, slowly catching up with whatever this madness is, pulls at the quickly unwinding rope, maintaining a regular tension so Law can use it for balance.

If he were to suddenly release it, Law would fall and probably end up dead. The temptation’s there.

But Giriko doesn’t, and instead watches with bemusement as Law reaches the precipice without stumbling once, picks up the hat, and makes his way back up, easy like there’s a mountain goat in his family tree. Once back to safety, Law dusts off the hat, and firmly presses it on Giriko’s head. He smiles, pleased, nods.

Giriko stands frozen in place. “... Didn’t ask you to do that.”

Law good-naturedly rolls his eyes. “A simple ‘thank you’ would have done the trick, you know.” He looks expectant. Maybe still awaits his fucking ‘thank you’.

But instead the numbness within Giriko recedes like a great tide, replaced with blazing, adrenaline-laced anger. With two big steps he strides forward, shoving Law to the edge of the path, and tilts him over the void.

“What’s your fucking game here?” he snarls. He feels wild as a she-wolf, ready to bite out Law’s throat.

Law frowns. “Someone told you you have a terrible temper?"

Giriko hisses. Law’s calm pisses him off. "What kind of man,” he bites out, “Goes around rescuing another man's hat?"

“Well, me, I guess.”

“What the hell do you _want?_ ”

"For you not to get a cold and become even grumpier? Come on, Giriko, what is it you are angry about?"

Giriko doesn’t know. But it feels justified. He tightens his hold on Law’s collar, tilts him further back. His heart is still pounding.

"Let go of me, please,” Law says. “Everything is fine, see? I'm not even stabbing you."

Giriko glances down to see a knife pressed against his side. _Oh._

They maintain this standstill for a few more moments, the wind tearing at their scarves, Law’s eyes cold and watchful. Then Giriko backs down, drawing Law back on his feet and releasing his grip.

“See? No one needed to die,” Law comments with an ironic smile, and sheathes his knife.

Giriko is still furious. “Whatever.” He stomps over to the more stable part of the path where the horses are secured. “Gotta get going.”

Law is close behind. As Giriko crouches down to undo the knot in the bridles, Law lays a hand on his shoulder, bending down to softly say in his ear: “I won’t rescue you next time if you’re going to be so unhappy about it.”

Giriko shakes him off. “Won’t be a next time,” he says brusquely, ignoring how hot his face feels all of a sudden.

Law shoots him an enigmatic smile, before mounting his mule in one flowing motion. “If you say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one short snippet today, oh well. This fic isn't dead! there's still more to come! Don't have much time to write or read fic as of late but i still have so many stories to write for those two idiots.  
> Please tell me your thoughts, it makes me very happy <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, short and long, delight me to no end! Let me know what you thought.


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